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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369170">she makes it all better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightpinkpeppercorn/pseuds/brightpinkpeppercorn'>brightpinkpeppercorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Agent Peacock [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, having a rotten day, natalie comfort, natalie fluff, that clunker finally gave in, vampire girlfriends make it better</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightpinkpeppercorn/pseuds/brightpinkpeppercorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shot stories dedicated to the wonderful Agent Nat Sewell based on prompts:</p><p>The detective is having a terrible day. Then they run into Nat on the way home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell, Female Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell, Male Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Agent Peacock [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>she makes it all better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/gifts">rhetoricalrogue</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>prompt from tumblr user @rhetoricalrouge: The detective is having a rough day. How does Nat cheer them up?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You blink several times, trying to keep the tears at bay. There it is, your beloved car. Being hauled away by Mr. Piller’s tow truck to the Wayhaven Mechanic shop. Will the old gal make it this time? Or will you get a call suggesting that she be broken down for parts? Better (or worse) yet, donated to the local public radio station?</p><p>The hold on your messenger bag tightens and you let out a breath. Your car will be fine. It’s probably just something simple, maybe the alternator. That won’t be too hard to fix. Besides, worst case scenario, you have saved enough money to buy a comfortable sedan from this decade. Though it would never replace your car. The one you learned to drive in, had your first kiss in, took you to university, and reliably  delivered you to that crime scene on your first day as a detective. </p><p>Quickly, before any of the volunteers walking in and out of the station could notice, you wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve. With an hour left of the day, you decide to go home, promising to come in early the next morning to finish what was left of that mountain of paperwork. </p><p>Crossing your arms and exhaling, you start the walk home. Luckily, the sun was lower in the sky and the breeze off the creek picked up so you wouldn’t overheat like on most days of the unusually unforgiving summer.</p><p>You won’t hear anything until mid-morning anyway - the shop owner was out in the city for the afternoon and didn’t trust their new assistant to deal with the <i>detective’s</i> vehicle. Whatever. The sentiment is nice but the special treatment is counterproductive. What if there is an emergency overnight? Of the human or the supernatural variety? </p><p>A swirl of hypothetical questions blurs your mind as you continue walking. Before the thoughts become too tangential, you stop at a crosswalk and take a few seconds to stop, breathe, and relieve the tension in your shoulders. A gust a wind blows past you and you shut your eyes, briefly, enjoying how it flows through and tousles your hair. </p><p>Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply and empty your thoughts on the exhale. Well, you tried. Your mind instead fills with just one set of thoughts.</p><p>Wide, deep brown eyes with a twinkle that would rival the first star of the evening; laughter so rich and pleasant, sung by the very angels of the heavens. She sets your world at peace just by allowing you in her presence. And as though your very daydream came true, you hear a familiar voice. </p><p>“Detective!” Nat calls from the opposite end of the street, heading in your direction. You lean against a light pole, watching her check for oncoming traffic before crossing. The sunlight behind her creates an aura, cloaking her in brilliant yellows and oranges. As she walks, agile and quick like a gazelle, you are entranced; everyone and everything suddenly disappears from your periphery.</p><p>“Nat.” Her name comes out in a short huff and it transforms her cheer into concern, bowing the corners of her mouth into a frown. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Wow. Even though you fight through the disappointment to smile at her when she first said your name, she can read you. Nat was the most perceptive being you have ever encountered.  </p><p>You wave your hand, forcing  your smile to widen. With how little you see Nat outside of direct missions, you want to relish every moment. You don’t want to waste any precious moments on your troubles. “Never better.”</p><p>Her hands meet her hips, and that downward curl of her lips falls into a scowl. She narrows her eyes. Eventually you sigh, dropping your facade, that faux smile. Nat reaches towards you to place a hand on  your shoulder,  adjusts her stance to meet your eyes. “I’m out for a stroll. Needed some fresh air. Please accompany me and tell me what’s bothering you.” </p><p>There is no way you can ever turn her down. All you ever want to do is spend time alone with Agent Nat Sewell. You hold out your elbow and she wraps her hands around your arm. Leisurely, you two walk and she listens intently to your woes about your car. And the cluster of complaints regarding missing lawn gnomes. And about how Douglas ate your sandwich.</p><p>With no real aim and multiple corners turned, you find yourselves at the edge of the town park. A smattering of people lay out on blankets and sit at picnic tables and toss balls and frisbees. Children gather and run behind adults to go home for dinner. </p><p>“I’m not sure I’m even ready for a new car,” you admit, voice heavy with defeat. </p><p>Nat slips her palm down your forearm to capture your hand and tilts her head to the side. “Let’s sit on the bench.” You nod at her proposal, trying not to grimace at the fact you spent the last half of an hour complaining while she gave you full attention. The both of you settle on the seat and you find yourself wrapped in her long arms. A very warm and comforting place. </p><p>“Your car has provided you such wonderful memories,” she muses. “And you’ll never lose those. You will cherish every single memory.” Turning your head,  you catch her eyes again, the deep comfort they provide is reassuring, putting you at ease. </p><p>In that space, in her embrace, hands gently rubbing circles into your back and shoulder, you finally relax. An answer didn’t come right away and Nat didn’t push for a response, filling the silence with a hum (a tune she once said was a favorite from childhood). After what felt like an hour and a half and several more cycles of cleansing breaths later, you spoke. </p><p>“That car needed routine maintenance, anyway. And that sandwich was a week old, and the corner was molding.” Nat bursts into a peal of laughter, throwing her head back. The reaction was so unexpected and you giggle as well, barely able to recount the police report you typed up on Elvis, the missing prized king of gnomes. </p><p>The park has cleared, and the sun begins to set, painting the sky the color of raspberry sherbet. The birds and squirrels have retired. And the only sound was the shared laughter between you and Nat. </p><p>“Do you feel better?” With her thumb, she wipes a tear trickling down your cheek. </p><p>“Much. Thanks, Nat.” You sit up and twist to face her. “I better get back to the station and see if I can borrow a patrol car. Got to go to work at sunrise tomorrow.” </p><p>“Or …” she counters, unwrapping herself from you. “I will walk you home tonight.” Nat then stands and smooths her shirt down before offering you a hand. “And I walk you to work in the morning?”</p>
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